Sonja Nehalenniasdóttir is finally free. After a daring escape from servitude and a sharp rise to first mate of the North Sea's most notorious pirate crew, she's survived punishing storms, several double crosses, and even diffused a mutiny against t...
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SAILS OF WRATH AND SILVER ✵ IV. ——————————————————
The throng of men in the shade of the tipped ship was stained with sweat, half hungover, and above all, agitated.
"When's the captain going to show?" Ulfsson asked, unleashing his glare on Sonja beside him.
Sonja offered a shrug. She knew only what Joostzoon had told her: Strijk had summoned both watches for a council on the matter of voyage and risk. Out of obligation to the articles, the men had come down Porpoise's slope, out from below deck, and now waited in sunbaked black sand.
She knew it was her job to keep them settled until the captain arrived. With purpose in her stride, she moved into the ring they'd formed, pivoting on her planted heel to take in their puffed chests and folded arms.
"You're likely still wondering why Captain Strijk pitched the task of careening earlier, yes?"
A chorus of gruff ayes rang out in reply. Ulfsson, however, set his jaw and widened his stance. He'd been nursing the dagger slash she'd given him every since the night of the storm. Other than the flecks of blood that dotted his sewn-up shirt, he'd managed to conceal the weakness wrought by the wound. Yet Sonja had noticed the creases in his face deepen from the pain. They were cracks in Ulfsson's carefully created façade, proof he wasn't as strong as he pretended to be.
"Then allow me to elaborate," she said, and moved her arms behind her back like a scholar about to lecture.
"No need, Miss Nehalenniasdóttir."
Strijk cut through a parted section of the crowd to relieve her. The murmurs rippling through the crew dropped below the squeals of circling gulls. There was only the crash of nearby waves, the snap of sail canvas, and the jingle of the beads Sonja had braided into Strijk's hair earlier that morning.
"I'd like to apologize. To all of you," he said, rubbing the shaven strip of skin above his lips in consideration.
The murmur reignited to a jabber as the crew turned to confer with one another. Sonja took a half step back, slotting in between Cicero and Ulfsson and letting their statues swallow hers. She wasn't going to be party to an apology.
"He summoned us to admit a fault?" asked the bo'sun, Cicero, his tone more confused than accusatory.
"You said this was about our next heading," Ulfsson snapped. "Get on with it."
"First, I must apologize for the scarcity of plunder. For the delay. Most importantly, I apologize for the lack of respect it seems I've shown you," Strijk said, paying special attention to Ulfsson and the cook, Birger. "Respect is essential to what we do. It's the unwritten word in our articles, the invisible hand that guides us. Without it, we have no shot at taking prizes or stepping ashore."
